“Something doesn't add up," Christina murmured, scrolling through her father's old company records.
Her tablet sat beside a cooling cup of tea. The curtains were drawn—Randell preferred “controlled light"—but shadows still clung to the corners of the penthouse.
“Miss Lin?" her assistant called from the doorway.
“Tell Mr. Carlisle I'm resting."
“Yes, ma'am."
The door shut.
Christina turned back to the documents, lips tightening.
The firm that swallowed her father's business—a shell company, dissolved after the acquisition.
Registered under a Delaware address. Then rerouted through a holding firm in Zurich.
She tapped the screen again.
Randell's foundation had made a donation to that holding firm the same month.
Her stomach turned.
---
Later that night, she waited until Randell
